


Crawling Home

by ADazzlingConspiracy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark, F/M, Friendship, Loss, Love, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4359572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADazzlingConspiracy/pseuds/ADazzlingConspiracy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter have blurred. They have become a single organism feeding off the same source of blood.<br/>What happens when the organism undergoes a forced and cruel seperation? Does it live or die?<br/>Hannigram & Mollygram - Set in between 3.07 & 3.08 - Will's POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawling Home

_I do not own Hannibal._

_Set between 3.07 and 3.08_

 

_This is just a little idea had based on a short story I wrote. It is slightly AU, since 3.07 did not got the way this did.  
Regardless, I hope you enjoy._

* * *

 

 _"If I saw you every day forever, Will, I would remember this time.”_ Hannibal’s voice echoed throughout the confines of my mind. Every morning, no matter how long or how little I slept his voice haunted me.  His comment about our eternity together is what greeted me most days in the moments of waking. The rest of the day, it would whisper over and over again. Especially on the days when I was alone.

Those days when I didn’t have to go in and repair a ship, usually a Saturday or a Sunday. These were the days when Molly did however work. She could grasp onto doubles at the hospital. Anything for some extra green to line our pockets.

_“I would remember this time.”_

“So will I.” I muttered, stepping under the stream of hot water. My Sunday morning showers often lasted longer than other day showers. There’s a certain quality of meditation when you’re alone on the last day of the week under the soothing drumming of a constant stream. It took me to a different place, similar to dreaming. Only these hiccups in reality weren’t as devastating as my dreams usually are.

Hannibal was only an arm’s length away. There’s a hint of a pleased smile playing on his lips. What is most real is that his eyes are a blaze with a thousand stars singing about life and happiness. He’s telling me a story, certain words bringing out the thickest hints of his accent. There’s a swelling in my chest. My heart feels like it’s to the brink of bursting. I fear not because I know this is where I’m at my happiest: At his side listening to him speak about one of the many subjects he is enthusiastic about. Only when he’s with me, there’s not as much professionalism as when he lecturing. He slips into a different language as his excited spiel approaches the climax. It’s Lithuanian I presume. His rambles have that child-like, carefree brand of enthusiasm. It’s that raw excitement that fills my chest of what feels like thousands of butterflies fluttering in blissful contentment.

On these little mind-escapades, sometimes it’s only a few minutes that pass. Other times it’s nearly a half hour that has past. This time, one was of those latter escapades. The water chilling is what pulls me out of this meditative state. I finished my shower in the cold water, feeling numb anyway. Coming back out of these states is similar to culture shock. Colors seemed to grey. My heart no longer feeling those squeezes of joy.

After getting dressed, I’m greeted by the dogs. They’re hungry and eager to go outside. After giving them food, some kibble and left over sausages from the butcher. I let them out the front door. I sit on the porch, watching them scamper about. Winston is the first to return.  He hops up onto the bench with me.  He’s staring at me with eerie all-knowing brown eyes. I get this look every time I come out of one of my weekend showers. Most days I ignore it but for some reason, I knew that today I couldn’t. It had been far too long.

I gave Winston a curt nod. He immediately jumped off the bench and then off the porch, looking behind him to see if I was following. Once he was sure, he went running around to the back of the house. I followed him slowly. The rest of the pack soon followed suit but ran aimlessly around the woods behind my home. Winston was on a mission. He followed the trail, now covered with snow and grass.  We no longer needed the trail to lead us to our destination.

I wasn’t in a particular hurry like Winston was. He had to keep waiting for me to catch up to him. “I’m sorry that my legs don’t move as fast as yours, bud.” He huffed in response as if to say “Bullshit. I know you’re stalling.” The rest of the dogs went off on their own expedition. They knew this was strictly for Winston and I.

Finally making it up the large hill that overlooked a river, the stone building came into view. I felt like all the heat had been sucked out of my body. While winter still had Virginia in it’s clutches, it was still about 40 degrees out. The cold isn’t what got to me. The fact that it’s been almost a year since I’ve been here is what chilled me. Almost for how long Molly and I had been married. She had kept me occupied. She kept my mind busy. Which I both thanked and resented her for.

Winston sat with his back to me in front of the door of the small building. A whine was emitted from his maw as he pawed at the entrance. I looked up at the archway. In the center was a stone slab that has engraving on it. It read:

  
“I WILL REMEMBER”

The mausoleum was roughly 25 feet tall with a 20 foot width and a 25 foot length. It was assembled mostly by myself. The parts that I couldn’t figure out to construct, I contacted craftsman that didn’t ask questions to make the custom pieces I did need. I needed help with the embellishments on the tops of the pillars that curved into the archway and the three grey marble stairs.  Everything else I figured out though reading or trial and error.

I fished the keys from my coat pocket. Winston promptly stood up, wagging his tail. I unlocked the deadbolt and then the knob. I slowly opened the door with a shaky hand. The only light in the room was a small stained glass window that was directly across the way from the entrance. Though most of the light was hidden behind the large black out curtains I put up to seclude the main chamber of the mausoleum from the entrance. The filtered light came into the room in shades of red. I closed and locked the door behind Winston and I, immersing us in almost complete darkness. I pulled a flashlight out of my pocket pointing it to my left.

Directly to the left of me was a hole in the wall. It was only 6 feet tall by 3 feet wide by 4 feet in length. Just big enough for me to fit into. Inside the hole was a generator, some towels, a single coat hook and a few shelves stocked with gasoline and lightbulbs. I hung up my coat. I rolled up my sleeves, to tinker with the generator. I gave the string a tug. With a cough, it came to life. I flipped on the light switch. The single light bulb dully in the cubby came to life. Grabbing a towel I walked out of the hole, back toward the door. Winston was sitting on the red rug.

The entrance was now lit by string white LED lights that lined the doorway. I cleaned off the mud that was on his under belly and paws. I tossed the towel into the cubby. My heart was hammering in my chest. It had been such a long time. Far too long.

Before opening the curtains, I took my shoes off. Once they were opened Winston went down the one step into the main chamber.  After the step, it was carpeted in red. On the left wall was all of my favorite of Hannibal’s drawings and paintings. I couldn’t bring myself to look toward the center of the room just yet, so instead I looked toward the right wall. There were three “shelves” all about 6 feet in length.  There was nothing on them except dead flowers. However each of the shelves was engraved with names. The highest one read: “Mischa Lecter”, the second “Simonetta Sforza-Lecter”, and the third “Count Lecter”.

Closing my eyes and exhaling slowly I descended onto the carpet. After some encouragement from Winston, I opened my eyes. It all hit me at once: Hannibal’s pure dark mahogany coffin laying upon a concrete slab that’s been decorated with a velvet red and gold table cloth. That too had been custom made. Next to the coffin was the black chair from Hannibal’s office that he always sat in during our romps through the darkness.

Directly behind the coffin was a concrete shelf that had seven black candles with gold sticks on it. The tallest candle was in the middle, with three on each side descending in size. It was bright enough in here, but I lit them all regardless. The stained window was one of those half circled ones that almost met with the ceiling of the building. Below the window was a mounted elk skull with maroon LEDs resting in the sockets that created spotlights on the wall under it. Beneath the skull, it read: “HANNIBAL LECTER”. In the mini-spotlights his name shimmered red and gold thanks to metallic paint in the engravement.

Before sitting down, I lifted up the flap of the table cloth. Under his coffin was a few shelves that had some of his books in it. I grabbed one, not caring what it was. It was a psychology book. Specifically the psychological explanation of the occult and mythology.  Winston laid at my feet. Only a few pages in, memories began to swim to the surface.

Hannibal had died at the hands of Alana Bloom and Mason Verger & Co. His body was badly battered after many hours of torture, but he was still alive. I suffered some myself but I was forced to watch them inflict pain on Hannibal. He’s strong. I knew that. He could survive anything. I believed that Hannibal was indeed immortal. No matter how illogical, I believed that Hannibal could never die. I would never have to be without him because he would out live me. I wouldn’t have to live a life where Hannibal wasn’t part of it. Or so I thought.

Mason grew bored with the lack of emotion emitted from Hannibal while being tortured. No matter what was done to him, he remained vigilante. Lecter ruthless taunted Mason. Patience wore thin. Mason miscalculated a cut to the throat with a sword used to cut along Hannibal’s back. Alana was furious with Mason as she attempted to stop the waterfall of blood escaping Dr. Lecter’s throat. All I could do is watch on in horror. Hannibal’s brown eyes turned lifeless. His lips paled. I wouldn’t stop screaming until I was knocked out. By the time I came to, Jack was shaking me awake. Hannibal’s lifeless body was being taken down by FBI agents. Mason Verger and his faithful assistant were also dead. Mason’s penis was missing. So were Alana and Margot.

After watching Hannibal die, I felt so empty. He was my home. The one person who I knew myself best with. I didn’t know myself without Hannibal Lecter. I spent a few days in the hospital. After I was released, I demanded the rights to have some of Lecter’s belongings. They were ultimately going to be auctioned to people who collected serial killer memorabilia. I just wanted his chair, some of the art he created, his brown and red suit (to put him in for when he was put in his coffin), and some of this books. Jack didn’t question why.

I also petitioned for him to not have an autopsy. My request was approved. My last and final request is what got resistance. I wanted the body. When I told Jack, I had never seen a look filled with such horror and disgust. I didn’t care. Eventually he dared to ask why. I answered: “He doesn’t any family. I was his only friend. I won’t let him be buried in the cemetery like any other faceless gravestone. Nor will I let him become some kind of zoo exhibit where people will come all around the world just to take a picture with his headstone. I’m going to bury him on my property. Please Jack. You owe me.”

Despite his disgust, Jack fought for my case. Reluctantly, the state let me have his body to bury on my property. When I came to pick up the body (That Jimmy and Brian were nice enough to dress for me) I got concerned looks from both of them. All I asked them was to help me put his body into his coffin. They complied.  After his body was secure in the coffin I placed a lock made of steel and gold on it so I’d never be tempted to look in. I didn’t need to see his decaying corpse. Soon after I decided to erect the mausoleum so he just wouldn’t just be sitting in my garage because I didn’t believe that Hannibal should be buried. It felt too common. I almost went into debt because of my final Hannibal project. Not that it mattered to me. No one to this day knows that this mausoleum exists.

After completing his final resting place is when grief finally set in. It was nearly six months after his death. Sorrow is too weak of a word to describe what I felt. I didn’t know who I was anymore without him. It felt like all my organs had been removed. I was just an empty shell. I rarely ate. Weight quickly sloughed off of me. Muscles deteriorated. I became a walking skeleton fueled by whiskey absorbed through my marrow. I knew that I was trying to send myself into an early grave. I wanted to be another faceless headstone in a graveyard. I would have died too if I hadn’t been for Jack deciding to come check up on me.

I was sent to the hospital for a few weeks. That’s where I met Molly. She saw me at my absolute worst and yet managed to fall in love with me. We exchanged small talk at first. Just how my condition was, how I was feeling on a particular day, etc. That all changed when she found me in the corner of my room hyperventilating one night. I wouldn’t stop muttering Hannibal’s name. It was almost like some part of myself believed that if I said his name enough times he would manifest in the darkness like he used to. Even if it was a hallucination, I wanted to see him again.

Molly literally slapped sense into me. I looked up at her in surprised confusion. “Will, listen to me. I understand that you lost someone who meant the world to you but you have to trudge on. Waiting for them to come back won’t help. You are the only one who can keep him alive. He lives on in your memories, both good and bad.” She helped me up, leading me back to bed. “Go to sleep, Will.” Before I could say anything she walked out. I eventually dozed off to sleep, dreaming of Hannibal. Most of the dreams were fragmented and violent, but he was there.

Before my release, I had a few more lapses. Molly would come into my room and hold me as I cried. She knew what Hannibal was. She knew what he did. But that didn’t stop her from comforting me in the aftershock of his death.

After I was released, Molly and I kept in touch. More like she forced herself into my life. Despite my attempts to keep her out, she found a crack to slither into. I grew fond of her. Similar to how a dead log grows fond of fungi growing on its remains. I was the dead log but she was the life growing from this death. I was impressed with her ability to create life from death. We got married a year and a half after we had met.

I don’t love her the way I loved Hannibal. Hannibal was my roots. He kept me grounded and feeding on the nutrients and blood of the earth. Alana was the axe. She removed me from what gave me life. Molly did bring a part of me to life through her colorful mushroom stalk. I feel the sun through her. I live through her. That’s why when she’s gone, I must reminisce about the roots I once had. It’ll never be like that again. I won’t stand tall and proud like I once did but life goes on.

She too doesn’t know about the Lecter mausoleum. At least she hasn’t said anything to indicate that she knows about it.

I spent hours in the mausoleum. I “talked” to Hannibal (and Winston) for a while about the ideas presented in the book. When I talked, he pretended that he understood what I was saying. Despite my talking, Winston slept most of the day. He would switch between laying at my feet and sleeping at the end of Hannibal’s coffin. He would occasionally just gaze up at the coffin as if he were admiring it. Soon after, he’d fall back asleep.

I reluctantly decided to leave. While the days were getting longer, the sun still descended around 6 PM. My watch glowed in the growing darkness: 5:40.

I stood up from the chair and put the book away. My butt and legs were numb from hours of immobility. I whistled for Winston to follow. Giving the coffin another look, he reluctantly came back toward the entrance. “Goodnight, Dr. Lecter.” I whispered, closing the blackout curtains. I went into the cubby to turn off the generator and lights. Also to grab my coat.

Once we were outside I made sure the door locked properly.

On the walk home, I pondered about what I should make for dinner. Molly probably won’t be back until ten so I had time to kill. What better way than to spend it at a stove?

Unlike the walk to Hannibal, I was much quicker the way back. Along the way to the house, I few of the dogs found us. They greeted Winston with muzzle licks and play bites. Buster bit him too hard (on porpose) and then scampered off. Winston thundered after him to get his revenge.

Once inside, I fed the dogs again and washed up to start making dinner.

I decided on making breakfast for dinner. I made two waffles, four pancakes, deer sausage and gravy, and eggs. By the time I was finished it was 8 o’clock. Molly joined me earlier than expected. She came home at 8:40. Her food was lukewarm, but she still sat with me on the couch waiting for the news to come on. We made small talk about her day. She eventually asked me what I did, I just told her I went on a hike with the dogs hence why their coats were mud stained.

We went to bed around 11.

During the night, I distinctly remember hearing Winston whimpering by the window. I told him it was okay and rolled back over into a dreamless sleep.

Molly was called into work at 6:30. She groaned and grumbled but still valiantly went. I slept for another half hour. I took a quick shower, eager to get to the boat yard. I went downstairs to eat some breakfast first. It was still fairly dark but darker than usual because a snow and rain storm was setting in. The thought of driving in sleet wasn’t pleasant but this work was something I looked forward to.

I stepped outside to get a look at the sky and to get a feel for the temperature. Once I decided on a few layers, I went back inside, letting the dogs get their morning run in. As I entered the house, it was much darker than it was when it stepped out.  I squinted in the darkness. Someone was standing in the corner near the fireplace. All the hair on my body stood on end. My stomach dropped.

Someone had broken into my house and was going to kill me. What a great way to start off the week.

Instinctively, my hand reached for my phantom gun. I’ve been out for almost three years. I haven’t carried a gun on me since. Though in this moment, I wish I did keep up that habit.

Before I could even try to muster up anything, the shadow spoke first.

“Hello, Will.” A familiar voice cooed from the darkness.


End file.
